


Snapshots Of Life In Wartime

by FortySevens



Category: The Gifted (TV 2017)
Genre: 50 drabbles, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, And some things that definitely WON'T happen on the show, F/M, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Romance, Snapshots, Speculation about future plot points, The author works out her feels about Lorna's flawless manicure, We're covering the whole spectrum y'all, we're headed into AU territory AF y'all
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-20
Updated: 2017-11-19
Packaged: 2019-02-04 14:35:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,727
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12773106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FortySevens/pseuds/FortySevens
Summary: Lorna Dane and Marcos Diaz. Before, during, after the war, and everywhere in between.50 one-word prompts for 50 more-than-one-sentence drabbles.





	Snapshots Of Life In Wartime

**Author's Note:**

> So, this was originally supposed to be 50 one-sentence prompts, but because I am physically incapable of writing just one sentence, you get 50 short drabbles instead. I'll be putting these up 10 at a time, as I finish them, so--more to come. They're written in no particular order, but all fall into the same continuity. 
> 
> Prompt of the fic from [The Fake Redhead.com](https://thefakeredhead.com/tfrs-prompt-library/)
> 
> Number 141 “You know what? I’m going to take my spaceship and hide out on Mars until this whole war thing blows over.”
> 
> Happy reading!

**15 Touch**

Marcos’ touch has always been warmer than a normal human’s, but he runs especially hotter in the hours after he uses his powers.

 

It’s a huge bonus on those long winter nights when it storms so bad that the power goes out and he and Lorna have to curl up in their bed under the few blankets they have yet to give away to the other mutant refuges who are waiting for transport to safer havens than the ones in Georgia.

 

But the night after Marcos brings her home after almost losing her to the black hole of Sentinel Service’s custody?

 

He runs _hot_.

 

Marcos runs so hot his hands almost burn as they press against Lorna’s skin, mapping the new slight curve of her abdomen. On their bed, the auroras glow around them through the thin tank top Lorna wears to sleep in, and the lights reflect off the glass covering the painting above their bed, making it look like the lights are coming from that, rather than from _them_.

 

Rolling onto her side, Lorna presses her lips against Marcos’ shoulder and clutches his hand in both of hers.

 

She won’t be parted from in again, not if they don’t have to be.

 

It’s easier said than one.

 

But—there’s nothing she’d rather fight for more.

* * *

 

 

**33 Fear**

It’s both confusion and fear that Lorna feels when she wakes in the middle of the night. She’s lying on her side, a pillow under her hips and a foot curved around Marcos’ knee, and try as she might, she can’t hold back the gasp at—whatever it is she feels in the part of her body that’s pressed against his side.

 

“Lorna?”

 

She winces, because she didn’t mean to wake him up too, “I—sorry, I just,” she breaks off when she feels that strange, fluttering feeling again, and her eyes go wide as one hand drops to the burgeoning baby bump. “I—I think I felt the baby move.”

 

Blinking the sleep from his eyes, Marcos huffs in relief and presses his mouth to her forehead, “You scared me for a minute.”

 

“Sorry,” Lorna slides her hand up his chest, feels the rapid-fire beating of his heart. “I didn’t mean to.”

 

He kisses her forehead again, then the corner of her eye and the side of her mouth, “If it’s about the baby, feel free to wake me any time.”

* * *

 

 

**2 Kiss**

Lorna’s on her side, Marcos’ pillow under her head as she drowses to the sounds of water running in the tiny bathroom of the executive suite that they’ve turned into their bedroom. After a few minutes, the water cuts off with a creak of the pipes, and Lorna knows she should move, should give Marcos room so she’s not crowding him out of bed, but she’s so warm and comfortable and on the cusp of sleep that her arms feel like they’re made of the metal she manipulates, and what’s the worst that’ll happen? Marcos has to move her over himself?

 

Wouldn’t be the first time.

 

His footsteps are soft as he pads across the room, and Lorna listens to him put something down on the dresser, take a couple more steps, and then stops. From the warmth radiating off him, she knows he’s not far from their bedside, and his knees creak as he drops one to the floor, and then the other.

 

The bed shifts a little before she feels his warm hands gather her sleep shirt and expose the gentle curve of her stomach.

 

Marcos’ thumb traces careful circles by her hip, and distantly, like she’s listening through fog or water or the haze of exhaustion that comes from being pregnant and running an illegal mutant underground, Lorna hears him say a prayer in Spanish, the words falling off his lips so quick she doesn’t have the capacity or care to try to translate them.

 

When he finishes, Lorna feels the bed shift as he leans in, and the corner of her mouth quirks when he presses a kiss to her skin near her bellybutton.

 

Finally, she gets the energy to lift an arm, reaches down and runs her fingers through his hair, “Come to bed, love.”

* * *

 

 

**49 Hair**

The first time Marcos sees Lorna’s natural hair color, he’s admittedly, kind of shocked.

  
“It’s green,” he asks as they stand together in her tiny shower, and he watches the dye as it gathers in the dips of her collarbones before trailing like pools of ink down her alabaster skin.

 

Lorna shrugs a shoulder, wraps her fingers around his wrists and twists so the shampoo bottle in his hands tips over and spills a generous dollop of soap into her other palm, “Another genetic quirk,” she says with a sarcastic roll of her eyes as she rubs it into her scalp, which displaces even more of the dark dye. “It’s a little easier to get by without it.”

 

“Oh, I uh—I didn’t think,” Marcos clears his throat in obvious discomfort and not knowing the right thing to say, just moves to one side and lets her stand under the spray. He runs his hand over her temple and into the soapy hair above her right ear, “I like it.”

 

“Yeah?” Lorna asks, a little challenging, but then she winces when the soap slides into her eyes. Before she can wipe it away, Marcos does it for her, and runs his thumb over the bridge of her nose when her face completely clears of shampoo.

 

“Yeah,” he cups her cheek with his other hand and tilts her head back, steps her under the stream of water so the soap slides down the curve of her back and not her face. “I really like it.”

* * *

 

 

**28 Sickness**

Morning sickness sucks.

 

Now that she knows she’s pregnant and gotten some information out of Caitlin, who’d gone through it not once but twice, Lorna’s almost surprised it hadn’t started up sooner.

 

But it’s like there was something about her meeting with Strucker while in custody that kicked her body into gear, and as soon as she _knew_ she was pregnant, her body—ever the traitor—decided to remind her of it every chance it got.

 

She’s bent over the toilet for the millionth morning in a row and puking her guts out, the pipes creaking as Marcos does something over at the sink in their bathroom.

 

Her stomach cramps hard, and for a second Lorna fears there’s something wrong with the baby, but this is her stomach, not her uterus, and it’s probably just her body rebelling to the fact that her stomach is rebelling.

 

It all just needs to stop.

 

She has _work to do_.

 

With a groan, Lorna rests her forehead against the arm that’s propped on the rim of the toilet, and she jolts when Marcos brushes his fingers over the back of her neck, moves her sweaty hair to the side, “How are you feeling, babe?”

 

She just lets out another groan, waves her free hand in a gesture she’s not sure means anything, other than signaling that she’s—still alive? Still breathing?

 

_Definitely_ still pregnant.

 

Marcos huffs, and she jolts when he drapes a cool, damp towel over her neck, curls tighter around herself when it sends a shiver down her overheated skin, “It’s okay, I’ve got you.”

 

* * *

 

 

**17 Tears**

 

Lorna can’t stop the tears from sliding down her face, and her heart feels as if it’s cracking in half as she cradles Aurora’s little swaddled body tighter to her chest.

 

It’s the greatest pain she’s ever felt—worse than the pain of having her powers removed and blocked and _whatever_ it was Sentinel Services did when they were trying to transport her and Strucker to the depths of bureaucratic hell—and she can barely make herself look away from the sleeping infant.

 

Next to her, she hears Marcos’ breath catch around a fresh sob, and her heart breaks even more at the sound, because it’s not the happy noise he made when he held their little girl for the first time, still squalling and covered in blood and other fluids when Caitlin placed her in the blanket spread over his waiting arms.

 

They know it’s too dangerous to keep her with them, but that doesn’t make it any easier.

 

“Are you ready?”  


Lorna’s head snaps up as she glares at Clarice, because _no, she’s not fucking ready_ , but—

 

They don’t have a choice.

 

Carefully adjusting the bundle in her arms, Lorna frees one hand and swipes the back of it over her tear-soaked eyes, leans in closer to Marcos when he curls an arm around her shoulders, “Do it.”

 

Looking apprehensive, Clarice hesitates before she nods and takes another look at the picture in John’s hands. She takes a breath and holds her hands out in front of her, fingers crackling with violet energy as a portal flickers to life between them, and then grows.

 

With another hard sniff, Lorna feels Marcos hold her tighter as they stare into the garden on the other side of the portal, where a tall woman with her graying hair wrapped in a scarf waits next to a younger woman with bright green eyes and skin as pale as Lorna’s.

 

The woman nods once, and Lorna takes a steadying breath as she and Marcos step through.

* * *

 

 

**22 Jealousy**

 

It’s _not_ jealousy Lorna feels when she watches Carmen Guerra presses her lips to Marcos’ cheek. It’s not.

 

What she _does_ feel is anger, because Marcos _lied to her_. He lied to her and he could have gotten killed or arrested or _worse_ , and she would have _never known_.

 

Until it was too late.

 

Her mouth twists around the words, “ _He can save himself_ ,” and she and Sonia retreat to their car, head back to headquarters. The sedan shakes as Sonia speeds through the empty streets, and Lorna breathes in and out through her nose to keep calm, to keep her powers under control so the car doesn’t shake apart from how Marcos makes her feel right now.

 

It’s not that she’s jealous.

 

She just knows what working for the Guerra Cartel has done to Marcos, knows what it _will_ do to him if he keeps doing this.

 

It’s not jealousy she feels.

 

It’s fear.

* * *

 

 

**38 Gift**

Lorna arches a brow at the giant, wrapped rectangle taking up pretty much all the space at the foot of her—and what’s quickly becoming _their—_ bed, “What’s this?”

 

The look on Marcos’ face is such feigned calm it’s almost comical, “I don’t know,” he shrugs, and Lorna _does_ snort this time. “You should open it.”

 

Poking him in the shoulder with a fingernail, Lorna takes the thin parcel by one corner and digs into the brown paper wrapped around it. It tears easily, and she digs a furrow across it, but that only reveals a dark surface with a thick metal wire attached to the top corners.

 

She turns her head, tilts a questioning brow at Marcos, who swallows once before he nods at it with his chin, “Turn it over.”

 

Drumming her fingers against it, she keeps her gaze trained on Marcos, watches him squirm, rock back on his heels, so—the suspense must be killing him.

 

He lets out a frustrated sound through her nose, and Lorna smirks, takes pity on him and turns it over. The amusement on her face gives way to a surprised gasp that she can’t quite catch, because in her hands and propped against her bed is—

 

A painting of the aurora borealis.

 

“Oh,” she breathes, carefully runs her fingers over the glass that covers the colorful canvas. “It’s beautiful.”

 

“I saw it and thought of you,” Marcos says, voice tight. “Of us. And, well, I figured we should try to decorate, since it looks like we’re going to be here a while, so-”

 

Lorna drops the painting on their bed, flings her arms around his neck and laughs when he staggers before catching himself and wrapping his arms around her waist, “I love it,” she laughs against his cheek before she presses her lips to the spot once, and then a second time. “It’s beautiful.”

 

It’s not until later, lying among the twisted sheets and catching their breath, that Lorna remembers to tell him that this is the first present she’s gotten since she was a little girl.

 

* * *

 

**36 Market**

Farmer’s markets are some of the best places to get supplies for the Mutant Underground.

 

It’s a large crowd of people filtering in and out throughout the day, so it’s easy to blend in, the vendors see so many people they’re all easily forgotten, and they mostly deal in cash, which is another bonus, there are countless exit options, and security cameras are fewer and further between the farther out from Atlanta they are.

 

They can’t repeat markets very often, and there are only so many, especially depending on the season, but it’s always just _fun_ when they get the chance to hit one up for foods fresher than rations and boxes upon boxes of mac and cheese.

 

Lorna wraps her arm around Marcos’ waist, slides her palm into the back pocket of his jeans as they peruse the row of stalls with leisure they rarely get the chance to feel. It’s like they’re a normal couple doing normal couple things, and not two of some of the most wanted mutant fugitives in the entire country.

 

It’s a cold fall day, one of the last weekends before the markets shut down for the winter season, and Lorna can’t hold back a shiver when a gust of wind blows through the alleyway. Marcos turns their bodies so they’re facing the stall at the end of the row—this one sells dried fruits—and shifts the arm around her waist so his hand rests under her leather jacket.

 

A second later, she feels a burst of warmth against her skin, that’s emanating from his palm and the inside of his wrist.

 

“Thanks baby,” she presses a kiss to the side of his mouth. “Oh look! Dried cherries!”

 

Marcos chuckles and nuzzles her hair, “How many pounds are we getting this time?”

 

Her mouth waters at the thought of the tart-sweet treats, and it’s been about a year since the last time they were able to get their hands on some, “I don’t know,” she pretends to think about it. “As many as we can carry?”

 

The warmth on her side retreats a bit as Marcos slides his hand away, stops using his powers so he can reach for the wad of cash in his pocket, “Why don’t we just clear him out and be done with it?”

 

Lorna grins and accepts the first, large bag from the bemused vendor, digs her hand in and pops a couple in her mouth, “Sounds good to me.”

* * *

 

 

**1 Comfort**

Some days, it’s harder to get out of bed than others.

 

This is one of those days.

 

“Lorna, you have to get up,” Marcos pleads for the third time in the last hour.

 

Though she’s been crying all morning, Lorna sniffles into his pillow, curls up into a tighter ball and can’t help but feel the aching emptiness inside her where she’d grown so used to feeling something _more_ ever since she realized she was pregnant.

 

“Lorna-”

 

“ _I can’t!_ ”

 

Marcos lets out a frustrated grunt, and she feels him slide into bed next to her, cups her face in his large, warm hands and makes her look him in the eye, “Lorna, I know this is hard,” he breaks off when his voice cracks around a pained sound. “It’s _so hard_ , but we have to keep going. We have to do this for her, so we can see her again.”

 

Her eyes fill with a fresh wave of tears, and she pushes at his hands as she buries her sob against his chest, “I know,” she says through gasping hiccups. “I _know_ , but I miss her so much. I want her _back_ Marcos, I just want her back.:

 

“I know, I know,” something wet soaks into the crown of her hair as Marcos slings an arm around her back and heaves her against his chest. “I know. We’ll get her back when we survive this war. All we have to do is survive.”

**Author's Note:**

> Hoping to get the next 10 up before Thanksgiving, because the rest probably won't get finished until after that. 
> 
> Prompt of the fic from [The Fake Redhead.com](https://thefakeredhead.com/tfrs-prompt-library/)
> 
> Number 141 “You know what? I’m going to take my spaceship and hide out on Mars until this whole war thing blows over.”


End file.
